Outside the box
by drizzlyNovemberInMySoul
Summary: - Chapter 8: Maura's heart is racing under Jane's fingertips, too fast to blame it entirely on excitement, and her breathing comes in quick gasps that are way past pants of pleasure. - Maura learns what it really means to have a family; it's neither a straight nor an easy path. Sequel to 'Ethiopa'. Could stand alone, I guess.
1. Out of the night

**~ Outside the box ~**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Out of the night**

* * *

 _ **Boston, 20th of November 2018**_

 _Dearest Jane,_

 _after some consideration I decided to write to you and, full of purpose, I pulled out a plain sheet of paper, charged my pen with a fresh ink cartridge (I bet you like that I chose the term charged);_

 _and then Eli crawled up into my lap, I patted him for a while and now honestly forgot how I wanted to start. It must be his sixth sense. He appears to have some inner calling to the study as soon as I take a seat in front of my desk._

 _My eyes keep coming back to rest on that old tool box of yours. I wonder why I got refueled with curiosity just now, but I truly want to learn more about it. I had once told you that you should not play it down, that you lost more than shirts when your condominium had burned to the ground._

 _The box, even though the metal is tinged black from the fire, is one of the two things you brought back from the remnants of your ruined living room. Besides the cactus it is the only thing you kept despite its marred surface. The flames must have tried to get inside in order to destroy whatever the box holds that you treasure. Will you let me know what it is some day?_

 _Eli is purring excessively. You were right, a furry animal is something else. Do you think it says a lot about me that I went from loving something in a shell to (also) loving something so fluffy? I cannot even imagine anymore what it was like without him._

 _In fact, that fairly sums up what I wanted to write about. I cannot imagine a life without you and the boys anymore. I don't want to imagine that, however, I feel like I am forced to do so, as if otherwise I would neglect the challenges that threaten us. That envelope that got sent to you last week; I can't get it out of mind._

 _I do feel threatened. I am more insecure than in a very long time._

 _I tried so very hard after the abduction to stay positive, to adapt various methods of coping. And I don't question them, they had worked. Dr. Larkspur has led me to efficient sources of strength. Henley's Invictus, for one. I am perennially astonished by how much I can draw from that poem. Do you know it?_

 _Howbeit, that was two and a half years ago. Yes, more than two years in which we accomplished a lot. Not only by living at all, but by living happily as well, for which I am eternally grateful even though I take all statements about eternity – especially by a secular person – as somewhat blasphemous._

 _Don't worry, I am not losing my train of thought._

 _We managed a great deal of things. We became a family that has overcome so much already. What I am allowed to experience with you makes me feel the most beautiful things; at the same time the most difficult ones._

 _Back then, after you found me and we tried to settle in at home, I had been the one who insisted upon not giving in to fear. We were and are responsible for two little ones now. It was not just us anymore. In fact, it never has been. And I made myself dread that word, bu about that. What if we only define ourselves by being a family; what if we don't even know what it means to be a couple?_

 _I still have the e-mail you sent to me as I was waiting to travel back from Ethiopia. Back then you contemplated whether we had talked sufficiently and consequently clarifying enough about our relationship – just as I am now. I hope it does not appear to be too pathetic to do this two and a half years later._

 _I denied you the knowledge of the experiences which haunted me the most. I know you read the reports, but those are mainly clinical. They don't tell you about the headache I had, the nausea I felt from the chloroform, about the dread I felt in the pit of my stomach when I saw him pour it on a rag to drug me a second time. Or how I could barely focus on something other than the knife when he flicked it open._

 _I talked to him about small victories he could experience._

 _I was the only one who could list small victories that day. Not being irritated by the rat, getting free, holding the cuff's chain in place in order to prevent it from cutting further into my wrists, faking unconsciousness, wounding him._

 _Lately, I started to doubt my decision to not tell you. I explained to you, it had nothing to do with thinking you might not understand. You have suffered through much worse. And you have always understood me. I simply and extensively did not want you to be haunted by them as well._

 _Harris had me not even 24 hours before you would shoot and kill him. However, 24 hours had been enough to do damage despite everything we have accomplished._

 _I can still taste his blood in my mouth. I can still taste my own. And I remember clearly how it had dawned on me, that me biting him and him slapping me had both resulted in that indistinguishable taste. I knew, I mean, I know the bio-chemical reasons for that and yet, I still cannot understand how we could possibly be that alike; not if only but especially on a molecular basis. _

_Shouldn't the difference between good and bad be easier to define? Don't we deserve to sense the dissimilarity? Or is he really as good as me and am I consequently as bad as him?_

 _I find myself getting roped into such disquisitions on many occasions. Yes, Jane, I know what you are going to say: It is nothing new. And yet it is, because I get stuck more and more often and find myself incapable of answering the problem. I am at a loss where solutions would come to me easily, almost reflexively in the past._

 _I used to believe that at a certain point in my life I would succeed in completing an analysis of myself. I was wrong. Again and again, I find myself trying to understand the mechanisms that make me do what I do._

 _There is an entry in my diary from when I was eight years old. It reads: "My parents and I had a fight today. I now know how to prevent that from happening again." The truth is, neither at eight nor at 43 have I understood how to prevent a fight or something bad from happening. I am not done._

 _Instead I find myself going around in circles. I have to come back to where I have already been. Oh, so many times. I have to re-understand, sometimes only nuances or only slightly different aspects, but nonetheless nuances and aspects of something I had already counted to my common knowledge about myself._

 _I am tired of that sort of process. Tonight, I am. Sometimes, I enjoy to look at it, at me again. Sometimes, I enjoy seeing a new side. I wonder when it got reduced to sometimes? I used to thrive in learning new things about anything._

 _Is that what I have become? A reviewer of an I-used-to-be-self?_

 _Well, I am taking quite an inrun to get to the point: I decided to make an appointment with Dr. Larkspur again. She helped me a lot the last time I needed, lets say directions._

 _The methods had worked for my PTSD, but I might have been a bit too busy with that to see that more needed to be done in order for us to work. All I did was manage the fear I felt. I also tried to micromanage yours. When you opened that envelope last week and pulled out our blemished family portrait the fear was back. Yours, too, I could see that._

 _I don't wanna go back to us fighting about the unhealthiness of being kidnapped or killed. Is there a rhythm to it? Every now and then a deranged person will come after us? Whatever it is, there is no denying it and I am of the opinion that we have to take more serious precautions for the scenarios we rather not think and talk about. We've got a good security system, I know that, but this is about more than equipment._

 _We have to talk about what that does to us, because it is affecting our relationship; no matter how brave and strong-headed you are; no matter how much we try to believe in the opposite._

 _You are aware that I prefer to write these things down, but please know that you may answer me in any way you like._

 _._

 _Love,_

 _Maura_

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 **A/N: So, there's the beginning of the sequel which turned out to be much heavier than initially intended (and I'm talking about the whole sequel). 'Ethiopia' focused on Jane, so this will be more Maura centric. Though it's not easy for me to write from Maura's perspective, I'm just not as wordy :) Therefore there won't be as many letters as in the last story.**

 **I will use the stuff that happens in the show, aside from that it's for you to decide how AU a Rizzles story really is. Maybe a time line to the story will be helpful:**

 **Jane is pregnant (4x16) and does not lose the baby – Frost dies – her son is born (April 2015) – during her maternity leave she and Maura go to Ethiopia (September 2015) – and return with a second baby (Spring 2016) – Maura gets abducted (shortly after that, 6x12) – and now this story picks up two and a half years later in November 2018.**

 **Reasoned, right?**


	2. From pole to pole

**Chapter 2: From pole to pole**

* * *

 **I want more mashed potatoes** , Alban signs. Jane makes the sign for "sure" **,** almost pushing over the beer that Maura let her indulge in to mark the occasion. She picks up her son's plate and hands it to Angela, who passes it on to her date, so Ron can start loading it.

It is Thanksgiving and the house is packed, just the way Maura loves and Jane dreads. It is the story of their lives, Maura filling her home with what Jane has been trying to squirm away from since she was born. Endearing attention and heartwarming love for one person, endless chatter and demanding affection for the other.

Though, to be honest, Jane revels in feasts like tonight – just like Maura does; as long as there is a predictable time frame to it. And she gave thanks for her sons being able to grow up in the kind of family that has gathered around them. A family who welcomes friends such as Korsak and Kiki with the same warmth reserved for Jane's mother and brothers. Furthermore all of them find comfort in the shared memory of people like Susie Chang and Barry Frost who are missing at their gigantic dining table tonight.

In fact, this is the first time most of the family has come together in a couple of months. Even Tommy, Lydia and their son are visiting from Chicago, where Jane's youngest sibling took a job at the end of last year. TJ's reaction to seeing his cousins as well as Mariam, the nanny they used to share, had been precious and the second most important reason for giving thanks that evening.

"I thought he was going to speech therapy," Constance comments on Alban using sign language. Shortly after the arrival of Maura's adoptive mother, Angela had made the unfortunate mistake of asking whether Maura's other mother would join them, too. The doctor explained that she had invited Hope and Cailin for the following day, yet ever since, the atmosphere had been nothing but tense between her and Constance.

"You thought correctly", Maura answers briskly. "He is attending a special group for speech training."

"I had the weirdest dream tonight", Jane jumps in, signing while she speaks and trying to lighten the mood of the Isles.

"Let's hear it", Mariam says cheerfully and Jane is thankful for that young lady for the thousandth time. The biology student, who still picks their sons up from preschool and waits with them at home until Maura or Jane can get off from work, has proven a treasure as a nanny and become a family member as well. The boys speak _afaan Oromo_ with Mariam, who is a third generation immigrant from Ethiopia. It is one of the ways Maura enforced to enable Charra, their youngest son, to keep connected to his heritage.

"Well, I was back in Ethiopia", Jane recollects her dream and Charra immediately chimes in, squealing "Abyssinia!" in delight. Ever since he learned about the ancient name of his homeland, or one of his home _lands_ , he prefers to call it that way and pretend that up to the present day it still is a powerful kingdom. And **,** as Maura puts it **,** that would make him one of its knights that have scattered all over the world.

"We were back in Abyssinia", Jane repeats. "All of us **,** as a matter of fact. Maura and I were having our silver wedding annivers-" But again she does not get to finish her sentence, because all the other Rizzolis start coughing and sputtering.

"Did I miss something?" Angela asks and Tommy adds, "Hell of a way to make a wedding announcement, sis'!"

Jane waves at him and rolls her eyes. "It was a dream, guys."

"My grandmother **,** Maria Magdalena **,** used to say-"

"-dreams can be revealing, we know, Ma", the siblings complete Angela's sentence and now all roll their eyes.

"Oh, Ma", Frankie adds urgently, "I've been meaning to ask: Was that _nonno_ Alban's mother?"

"Yes", Angela confirms happily and looks at Alban when she says, "Maria Magdalena chose the name Alban for the first time in our family."

"Poor grandpa", Tommy remarks without even looking up from his plate. "A mother like that..."

"Please," Maura chuckles **,** "continue, Jane!"

"However," Jane starts anew dramatically, even though her main goal has already been achieved as soon as that warm chuckle left the woman next to her. "I was left with the task to train some monkeys who wanted to attend the ceremony."

"I believe she's talking about you, boys", Angela interrupts once more and gives her sons a scolding gaze.

 **What happened to the monkeys?** Alban asks in sign language. Though before Jane is able to continue her story telling, Constance picks up where she initially got interrupted.

"It doesn't seem like he has improved. Why is he not speaking?"

"Mother, not now!" Maura warns, feeling the child's eyes on her.

"I am just wondering why he would not tell you what he wants."

"He just _did_! If you need someone to interpret for you, you simply have to say so."

Jane puts a hand on top of the fist Maura has balled, though she is equally annoyed by Constance's ignorance and marginally dumb questions. Unfortunately, the older woman cannot seem to let it go.

"Well, Charra is ahead of him and he is even-"

"Even what!?" Maura spits. "Listen, mother, if you're not going to love them exactly the way they are **,** then you are not welcome here!"

"But darling, I _do_ love them the way they are. I just want what is best for them."

"And why do you think you should decide which race or physical ability is best for them!?"

"I was going to say Charra is younger", Constance tries to defend herself, sounding honestly offended. Jane also feels that Maura misinterpreted her mother's statement and overreacted to what probably was an expressed concern for Alban's educational progress, even if her timing was not the best.

"Yes. I'm dhe big brodher." Alban is smiling proudly as always when it comes to this subject, easing the tension without even knowing it. "Dhere are lot and lot of noise, dhen I like signing better", he offers his grandmother, who gazes at him in astonishment. Even though he still has to practice the softer consonants, especially when words are ending with a "s", which he cannot hear as proper as the other ones, Jane feels like her chest might burst with pride at her son making sense of a situation like that.

Yet, oblivious to the change of mood, Maura leans towards him and says, "Alban, tongue between the teeth, just like we practiced."

The little boy looks taken aback and Angela and Jane gasp loudly at the same time, staring at the doctor in disbelief. When Maura realizes what she has done, she takes the napkin from her lap and puts it on the table before getting up with a mumbled "Excuse me" and disappearing out of sight.

"We play somedin' now, brodder?" Charra's question rattles Jane out of her reverie and she is about to chide him for making fun of his five month older sibling when she finds Alban is grinning widely again. Charra is not mocking his brother, he shows loyalty, the little miracle.

As the boys leave the table, waving at TJ to join them, Angela speaks up: "Go after her, Jane **!** "

Jane only shakes her head though, and concentrates back on her half emptied plate. "She's a grown woman. She'll manage." At that Constance gets up instead, turning to where Maura has disappeared to.

"Sorry, Constance," Jane interrupts her intentions, "but I don't think you can help her right now."

"I agree", Constance replies politely. "However, since the only person who could help her is not willing to do so, I will try my best."

Somehow that catches Jane off guard. She nods softly and gets up herself, her mind changed.

.

She finds Maura sitting at her desk **,** in the study, scribbling in her journal. Her back is commendable straight. Jane usually envies Maura's healthy posture and the way the doctor makes it look so easy, when Jane has to remind herself to un-slump her own shoulders all the time. Though, tonight Maura has her hand pressed into her lower back. Jane wonders whether Maura is aware of how she puts her hand over that missing organ whenever she is struggling with her feelings towards one of her family members.

.

The first time they ever fully undressed in front of each other, undressed one another, the smaller woman had made Jane take inventory of Maura's body. And she had done the same with Jane's.

Jane knew she was not as confident of her figure as Maura was, simply because there were not many people as self-assured about their appearance as Maura. Unfortunately. Yet, there had not been an ounce of shame as she had come to sit in front of Maura **,** on the bed, completely bare. Self-conscious, yes, and overwhelmed by the sense of intimacy the situation brought upon them, but not embarrassed about anything.

Maura had moved forward at some point and gently instructed Jane to lie back until she came to rest against the mattress. Maura followed, lay down next to her, merely an inch from her. In a faint **,** yet seductive whisper **,** she had told Jane to close her eyes, had taken Jane's hand and guided her fingertips over her skin.

The 0.3 **-** inch incision of the laparoscopy from where they had extracted Maura's kidney was already faint **;** however, the scars left by the 6 and 5-inch incisions **,** for which Jane had to use the glass of her mobile phone's screen in order to slice her friend's calf open, were still discernible on the otherwise unmarred, soft and smooth skin. Maura had explored Jane's scars that night as well. Also three, they matched that way.

.

"Why do you have to be so controlled all the time?" Jane asks, back in the present and voicing her observation of how Maura chooses to quietly write down whatever she is thinking and feeling. "What ever happened to frantically collecting lint out of cashmere sweaters?"

The doctor does not reply anything, does not even acknowledge Jane's presence, which makes Jane contemplate whether it is an everything-I-say-will-be-heard-as-an-accusation-day or a teasing-will-point-her-in-a-helpful-direction-day. When she notices the slight shake of the pen in Maura's hand, which hovers over the page now, either waiting for inspiration or for Jane to leave, she suddenly wonders when she actually started trying to figure out Maura's mood instead of interacting with her.

Jane decides to move around the table and sits down opposite from the other woman. "You wanna talk to me?" The detective is almost proud of the patience she has gathered to ask that question.

"About this and that, yes."

And patience is what she needs when it comes to Maura's honest **,** but insignificant answers.

"About what happened at dinner, I mean?"

"Yes, that too", Maura sighs and looks down at her lap. Jane realizes that Eli is sitting there, comforting her. The black cat used to stray around their house until Jane and their sons convinced Maura to let him in. Funnily enough, he now seems to seek out the doctor's company the most.

"I feel very guilty for what I did. I reacted poorly." Maura barely speaks up. "I didn't mean to discourage Alban. It was one of the first times he spoke up among so many people and even that should have been enough, but then he also addressed the problem himself and offered an explanation. I shouldn't have sent him a message that suggested he didn't do perfectly fine. It's not excusable, but I believe I was occupied with being irritated by my mother."

"I noticed", Jane states in a friendly, but sarcastic tone. "Is something going on with you and your mother?"

"Maybe", Maura sighs once more and makes Jane wonder whether the doctor's uncharacteristically undetermined reply and the heaviness with which she talks indicate that there is more behind the otherwise insignificant dispute at dinner. "She's the one who tensed when I mentioned I invited Hope to visit on a different day."

"Good for you", Jane smirks and at Maura's raised eyebrows continues, "Going with the 'she started it' argument."

"In earnest, Jane, why is it always one of my family members who ruins the gathering?"

"Maura...", Jane whines mockingly. "At least give my family some credit. Your relatives could for instance share the labels 'overstepping' or 'annoying' with mine."

"I don't see your family that way", Maura laughs and Jane decides for the umpteenth time that getting that laugh out of Maura will be her goal for the rest of her life.

"Well, I don't blame you", Jane answers. "It is my job to see them that way. Everyone's gotta reserve their most unpleasant feelings for their own family."

"You are my family", Maura reminds Jane and suddenly her eyes are back to being glued to Eli, who is purring unperturbed. Jane must have hit the more delicate nuance of the topic.

"You're right", she says apologetically. "I didn't mean it like that."

"You are not wrong, though." Somehow Maura's statement carries something deeply unsettling.

"Why, you've reserved some really ugly feeling for me?" The detective's joke does not work.

"In my opinion **,** our situation requires more communication. For one, we don't reflect on our relationship anymore."

"Does that have to be a bad thing?" Jane asks softly, because she knows what kind of effect her questions usually have on Maura. She can see it right now, the way Maura frowns and looks puzzled, wondering why she has not seen it from that angle before and then slowly growing frustrated with how the other woman always messes up her perfectly laid out arguments.

"Noooo", comes her reply a moment later and Jane thinks Maura is the most adorable person she has ever seen, only one pushed out bottom lip shy from pouting as skilled as their sons'.

Jane reminds herself to concentrate on helping Maura to get her point out, so she asks, "Why do you think we'd need it?"

Maura looks grateful for Jane's understanding. "Well, I wouldn't want us to miss something important. As a start, I have something for you." The smaller woman opens the top drawer of her desk and hands Jane an envelope.

"Is this your resignation letter?" This one does work, Maura chuckles again. Sadly **,** Jane cannot quite bring herself to do so as well.

"Not even close. Would you read it?"

 **Sure** , Jane signs.

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 **A/N: Reviews are very welcome. I hope you don't feel thrown in at the deep end - I tend to create a situation and explain it later.**

 **All the best to you and the five more nights of waiting for the next season.**


	3. Thank whatever gods

**Chapter 3: Thank whatever gods**

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Jane believes Alban, her eldest son, is the slowest eater wandering the earth. Charra eats like her. Huge amounts, preferably standing up, as if someone could snatch it from him at any moment unless it disappears fast enough into his mouth.

"He's not picky", Maura had defended Alban as if any complaint about his eating habits would offend her as well. Which was probably the case, as Jane realized later.

"He picks out every bite himself and eats it as if he expects it to bring out the flavor the longer he chews on it", Jane had observed. "If that's not the definition of picky, I don't know nothing no more." Maura had glanced back at her scolding, openly repulsed by Jane's choice of grammar and the way she talks about their children in front of them.

It is Tuesday evening, one of the two times during the week when Maura keeps her appointment with Dr. Larkspur, and Jane manages dinner with two toddlers by herself.

It is one of those nights she did not follow Maura's parental guide, that the doctor tries to slip in casually throughout the day. Something Jane mostly decided to ignore. It is not that she has never proven Maura's theories wrong before, God forbid. However, disobeying those oh-so-subtle advices usually bites her in the ass eventually.

So tonight, by 8 p.m. (the new midnight, by Jane's "motherly" calculation of time), she managed to feed the boys dinner and then run them a bath, which usually helps them sleep more soundly. However, she did not consider what Maura refers to as the "afterbath hunger". Jane figured there was nothing she could do but to feed them once more, so she trudged back into the kitchen and got the leftovers out of the fridge that had not even cooled, yet.

Now she is watching Alban eat his pasta. In his tempo. Charra has disappeared someplace after emptying his plate, obviously not able to stand the excruciating boredom of watching Alban wait forever between two bites. He is not stalling. It is simply the way he is.

Jane feels her eyelids drooping, so she reaches for an orange and starts peeling. Maura will probably eat it when she comes home. As long as Jane can keep herself from peeling all of their oranges, Maura should be able to manage.

Out of habit, Jane puts one piece next to her son's plate. She immediately regrets adding something to his plate, but feels badly when she considers taking it away. Especially since Alban's gaze focuses on the fruit intensely.

Suddenly, he pushes one of his small fingers into the soft flesh of the fruit and says: "Pshhhht, one gotta get dhe juice out. And dhen – pshhhhht – put apple juice inside. And dhe orange juice into dhe apple – pshhhhht."

"And then?" Jane asks amused, eyebrows raised automatically to give her question an expression, while her hands are occupied with the peel. That has been the hardest thing for her to learn. She has to use her facial expressions extensively with her son, but at work she needs to go back to an unreadable face most of the time, especially during interrogations.

"And dhen you got apple pie." He pulls up his shoulders, which still seem to reach his ears as he does it, puts his hands out, palms up, and raises his eyebrows. "Simple like dhat."

"As simple as that, huh?" Jane repeats after him slowly in order to show him the way it is said, and grins. "Could you continue eating as simple as that?" She asks and signs, her orange-task finished.

 **But I** _ **am**_ , Alban signs while he chews purposely. A moment later, he tentatively puts his fork on top of his knife and then taps on the backside of the cutlery with his juice-covered pointer finger.

"Mama?" he asks and Jane's heart melts every time he says it like that. "What dhe hugest mountain?"

"What _is_ the hugest mountain?" Jane again repeats his words as if she is making sure she has got his question right. Maura and she have been taught how to casually practice with Alban throughout the day in addition to his speech training by professional tutors. "Mount Everest", Jane continues with an answer and signs "highest peak". She honestly thinks an interesting conversation is developing. This is what these kids do to her fortunate, motherly self.

"Nope", Alban replies, neither irritated nor smart-aleck. He taps the elevation of his fork again and explains: "Dhis. And you gotta jump from here – pshhhhhht – in dhe water."

Jane's eyes follow his finger, as it draws a circle in the air, and then lands on some random spot on the table. She wonders whether Alban has recognized the sound of splashing water during his bath earlier, even though his hearing aid was off.

"Dhere, dhe water", he explains further as if he could hear Jane's thoughts. She smiles at him again as he shoves another spirelli noodle into his mouth. How many minutes since the last mouthful?

"Mama?" Same procedure. "What _is_ dhe deepest water?" Alban emphasizes the word he has skipped before, showing great concentration.

"Well, I guess", Jane muses, wishing Maura could provide the correct answer, "it's somewhere in the Pacific." She makes a motion that says "deep" and one that looks like big waves.

"Nope", he pipes in, "it's dhe well of dhe hugest mountain." He is very pleased with himself and Jane has to laugh at her wish for the right answer just moments ago, as well as at his cleverness.

"Simple as dhat. It's right here." And again he is pointing at that random spot on the table, which does not seem so random anymore.

"Uh-huh", Jane says, giving him an impressed look that seems to fuel his train of thought even further. "That's the deepest water, you say?"

"Yes. From the hugest mountain. Only widh a rocket you can fly dhere, you know..." He chews and thinks. His eyes sparkle whenever a rocket gets mentioned. "Mama? Who flies dhe fastest rocket?"

 **I have no idea** , Jane offers, since even if she did know, it would not compare to Alban's understanding of the truth. Her son opens his eyes widely and leans a little closer to underline his wisdom: "Dhe rocket-flyer!"

As simple as that.

.

Maura loves coming home – particularly on Tuesday nights. Of course she enjoys her family's company, but coming home to a silent house, where sleep has already claimed its occupants, gives her the chance to indulge in one of her favorite activities lately. It is something like meditating.

Throughout the day, all of them would leave things around the house where they do not belong. To Maura, they seem like clues, allowing her to decipher who left that particular item there and why.

Alban is the one most likely to leave one of his toys, preferably on slim ledges, where the ladder of a fire truck is to close the distance to the next surface, as if he is following a secretive task of creating pathways, for tiny creatures to come out and use them at night.

Charra is the one most likely to plant something that he regards as a necessary tool for himself to accomplish something else. Once, Maura found a pair of kid scissors stuck in the mane of the antique rocking horse her adoptive father Arthur had given the little knight on his second birthday. When showing her discovery to Jane, the detective had marveled: "Just imagine you're off to slay a dragon and, lucky you, have got your weapon with you at all times!" For a second then, Maura had considered cutting back on the stories of St. George, the famous dragon slayer of Abyssinia, for both Charra and Jane.

Jane's clues are the ones that are most likely to have no purpose, as she would usually drop whatever item when getting distracted by something else. Such is a pair of children socks in the kitchen cabinet, next to the jam and peanut butter, or her tooth brush, which appears to be capable of ending up just about everywhere that is not the bathroom, most of the time with the tooth paste still on top and untouched.

It is ten past nine when Maura opens the front door to their house, where only Eli is greeting her, loyal as always. He wanders around her feet and curls his tail around her calf as Maura slips out of her winter coat and heels. As she takes a moment to breath in the smell of her home, she catches rather quickly on to the fact that Jane's clues are deliberate tonight. Which must mean the detective knows about Maura's Tuesday night's routine. A warm feeling sweeps through her.

Only two strides behind the entrance door lies an artificial rose. As soon as Maura picks it up, she is positive it is one of the flowers thrown at the protagonist's death bed after the soprano's final aria. "Dido and Aeneas" was the first opera Jane and Maura ever went to see together. Nine years ago already.

"I don't think you were supposed to keep this", Maura says to the quiet house, enthralled.

In the living room, she sheds her blazer and finds a DVD on the coffee table; nothing out of the ordinary in itself, but the title says "Invictus" and Jane has put a post-it on it, saying _Yeah, good movie. Fine sports, too._ Maura finds herself smiling.

Then, there is a hand-sized ring in the kitchen, made of colorful baste, that Ethiopians use as a stand for the _jabanaas_ , their coffee pots. A bittersweet memory invades her mind. Jane had received that ring from Tayanne, the woman who used to cook for them during their first stay in Ethiopia. The two of them had been sorting wheat grains for hours together.

Later that year, they had canceled their plans to go back to Ethiopia, because of civil disturbances among the Oromo students. Maura could not help but think of the demonstrations against recent unjust decisions by the Ethiopian government to dispossess the land of many Oromo farmers. The government had answered with violence and imprisoned, beaten, shot and killed University, High-School and even Primary School students who were voicing their protest.

Shortly before Maura's, Jane's and the kids' second visit to Ethiopia, in 2017, a message reached them, that the young cook had died suddenly because of a gastric ulcer. Jane had been crushed and later took on the task of providing for Tayanne's younger siblings, who had no other family left; that was why Hannes, Maura's dear friend in Ethiopia, had given Tayanne a job at his house in the first place.

"There's more", Jane says and shakes Maura out of her thoughts. The detective looks tired, but very relaxed. Without her heels, Maura has to stand on her toes to give Jane a kiss. She is truly home. It is a place to shed work attire, to be openly worn out, to lose countenance. A place that means security and freedom.

Jane takes Maura's hand and guides her toward the study, Eli following their every step. The charred tool box is standing on top of Maura's desk, and the medical examiner's eyes widen with realization.

"Those objects came from your box?" She asks in astonishment.

"All but the DVD. That was just to let you know I read your letter", Jane smirks. "You keep your diaries and journals, I keep stuff in there."

For a moment, they both simply stand and stare at the box. It is not even knee-high, a lid on top and two slim drawers at the bottom make the storage room for Jane's memories.

"Actually, my e-mail to you, when I waited for you to come home from Ethiopia, wasn't the last time I wrote you", the detective speaks again. "I started a letter to you when Harris had you, but after I got you back I just stowed it away in here. I do that with a lot of things."

Maura softly nods in comprehension and thinks back to Tayanne's gift Jane had laid out for her. She has not seen it since Jane brought it back from Ethiopia.

.

There is no room for Maura's curiosity that night. She is consumed by Jane and her own overwhelming desire in only moments after entering the study. They barely make it to their bedroom.

Their love, their want for each other's bodies, has edged toward fierceness during the last year. The self-awareness, the exploring and the tenderness have yielded to something raw. They are absentminded, familiar with each other's needs, and they get to the point with an urgency that declaredly does not leave much room for romance.

There is some sort of reflex Maura has that Jane loves to provoke. She found out about it years ago, long before they had sex for the first time. It had been raining that day, pouring really, and they had gone grocery shopping together. Maura had carried the bags up the driveway in a hurry and Jane tried to fish the house-keys out of the doctor's trouser pocket. Maura jerked at her touch, causing Jane to blush and chuckle, then blame it on the unaccustomed proximity between them.

The first time they slept with each other, it happened again. Maura had been guiding Jane's fingers, and, as they ghosted over Maura's underbelly, she would flinch and shiver, but told Jane to keep her eyes closed.

The next time, Jane had found the spot deliberately, right under Maura's navel. She discovered that it was actually more like a line that went from one hip bone to the other.

"What is that?" Jane had chuckled, as she stroke along Maura's abdomen, and watched as her touch sent little shocks through Maura's body.

"I don't know", Maura breathed. "It's involuntary. Don't you have that sensation when someone touches you there?"

"No." Jane could not stop chuckling, amused disbelief mixing with her awe of Maura's body. "You should know what kind of reflexes there are in the human body."

"You're right", Maura contemplated. "I never … questioned it. I've had that reaction ever since I can remember. It happens even if I bump into a table with that part of my body."

"Oh."

"What?"

"I thought it'd be exclusive to my touch." Jane smirked and Maura replied, "Wouldn't you like that?"

Tonight, Jane brushes over that part of the abdomen of the writhing woman underneath her with her lips. "What does it feel like?" She whispers against Maura's skin and even that gets her a slight reaction, a twitch of Maura's stomach muscles.

"It is a stomach drop", Maura breathes out, her brows knitted in frustration because Jane has stopped what she is doing. Maura hates it when the other woman does that. "Like when you're falling asleep and suddenly get the sensation you are falling for real."

"Like riding a roller coaster."

"Oh, I wouldn't know", Maura whimpers, lacking in concentration and urging Jane to continue.

And, as Jane's kisses travel further, the detective decides what to get Maura for Christmas this year.


	4. Unconquerable soul

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for the continued support through reviews as well as the delightful PMs – AND special thanks to my beta clody whom I, shame on me, mention for the first time in this chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Unconquerable soul**

* * *

Jane creeps around the kitchen, ears pricked, on alert. A cold breeze hits her and she gazes into the living room. The door to the backyard is ajar – not wide enough for a grown up to squeeze through, though. She waves at Maura, who is already approaching the living room area, then turns back towards the kitchen unit and softly knocks against one of the cabinets.

"Someone in there?" she asks, her voice testing and low.

"No", comes the instant reply and Jane has to chuckle as she pulls open the door to find Charra on the other side. He jumps at the sight of her, even though he should have figured out that he got made. A smile is creeping up his face and he is about to leap forward and into Jane's arms, when a blood-curdling scream erupts from the garden, making them both wince this time.

Alban even beats them to the glass door, the game forgotten and the frightened cry correctly interpreted.

They find Maura kneeling on the lawn, quiet now, but rocking herself. It is a disturbing and unsettling picture. Jane falls onto her knees, ignoring the pain of colliding with the hard and icy ground, and crawls next to the shivering medical examiner. She puts a hand on the woman's back and one on her forehead, trying to comfort her, while searching for the source of the hurt she seems to be experiencing. Eventually, she pries away Maura's arms when she notices that the medical examiner is clutching something to her chest.

It is Eli – head hanging limply from his stiff body; his eyes are hollow.

 **What is wrong with him?** Alban asks, too stunned to use spoken words. Jane can read his signing even from the corner of her eye and she knows it is for her to answer, because Maura is squeezing her eyes shut and appears to be trying to block out her surroundings.

"Eli has gone to heaven." The sentence is intuitive, instinctive even, and not thought through at all. The potential meaning only becomes clear to Jane when Charra puts a hand on Maura's back and says: "Mommy, it's alright, _Hadhaa_ _tiyya_ can watch him now."

Yet the little boy's consoling words, about his biological mother taking care of their cat, have no effect on the softly swaying doctor.

"Mommy", Charra tries again, sounding on the verge of tears.

"Maura", Jane says more firmly than the little boy, and taps the doctor's knee. She is overwhelmed with the desire to actually be able to speak a fourth language that only Maura and her would understand. "You gotta snap out of it", she finally pushes, keeping her voice down because there is at least a slight chance that Alban will not catch it. It is a futile attempt, though. No one can read Jane's face better than Alban; and right now, she is not able to force the worry she feels from her features.

And Maura follows her command, as if that had been all she needed. She nods once, puts Eli down, and stands quickly, brushing off the dirt from her trousers.

"Let's wrap him in a blanket for now." Her voice is calm and steady. It creeps Jane out more than everything else that has just happened.

.

Putting the boys to bed that night is a long and tiring process. They are practically buzzing with questions about what just happened, to Eli as well as to their mother, and Jane feels like she might go nuts if she herself cannot find answers to that soon. Answers that require a different version than what she feels comfortable telling the kids.

When they finally fall asleep and the women step inside the living room, Jane speaks, "I am so sorry, Maur'. I know you loved that cat and I harshly cut short your time to grieve."

"You were right to do so. And I still love him."

"I'm so sorry."

"You already said-"

But Jane cuts her short again by enveloping her in a hug.

"Someone opened that door to get to him", Maura mumbles into Jane's shoulder. The detective nods softly.

They call CSU and let them check the back door for fingerprints and look for footprints in the garden. They hand over the cadaver of their pet. They have said their goodbyes this afternoon, with the boys. Maura has been stoic throughout all of it.

When the door closes behind the forensic team, their colleagues, Jane says, "Come on, I wanna show you something."

The medical examiner follows her into the study, where Jane pulls the old tool box out of the shelf she usually keeps it on, in and places it on the floor. She motions toward it.

"I can have a look inside?" Maura sounds incredulous and watches as Jane kneels next to the box.

"I didn't just pick out certain items for you to look at. You are allowed to see everything."

Maura understands. She is speechless and hesitant as she squats down beside Jane. When she finally opens the lid, however, she looks like she expects there to be a chance that the box could belong to Pandora.

At first sight, it is chaos. Maura first considers a joke about it being a mini-version of Jane's apartment, but then, she does not want to remind the detective of the arson. Not after the day they just had. The medical examiner lets her fingers slide over the small, and even smaller objects that lay in there, all in a tumble. Jane cannot take her eyes of Maura, who touches everything so reverently, as if she is handling antiques.

Right in the center of the jumbled items lie three small pebbles. Maura gathers them carefully in her palm. Her name is written on one of them, in black ink and with fine letters. The other two hold the names _Alban_ and _Charra_.

"Those are the good stones", Jane answers Maura's quizzical face.

"The good stones", Maura echoes and waits for the meaning to click.

"I had to make them", Jane explains. "They are the good stones and I needed them, because I hated that metaphor of your therapist so much that I'm still haunted by it. I still cannot grasp why you would picture your life as a glass?"

Maura has to chuckle a little at Jane bringing this up after more than two years. Then again, it was Maura who had expressed in her letter the need to talk about what had happened back then. "Why wouldn't it be a glass? It is something fine and delicate-"

"And hollow, see-through and also a very breakable object by the way."

"Well, I give you that."

"And then you filled it with many ugly gray stones and water, which means more see-through stuff. Water that was supposed to represent the good things, but all it really did was make the pebbles appear bigger. All it did was make the trouble and trauma it represented look shinier."

Too late Maura realizes that Jane is talking herself into a rage, and she herself is too overwhelmed to decipher what kind of emotion or state of weariness has brought this on. She hates that the tender moment from when she first got glimpse of Jane's treasures is gone.

"You know, I actually counted them. 67, Maura. 67 fucking stones and it had me make a list of all the bad things that happened to you, all that I could think of, just to see if I could prove that horrible number wrong."

"What did you come up with?" The doctor's question is timid.

"What did I- seriously, Maura? What, so you wanna compare notes? I'll tell you what I came up with: that there's no way to count or measure something like that. How many stones for all the things your mothers and fathers put you through!? Which is such a weird sentence and makes me feel so sorry for you, 'cause you actually have four parents who failed you."

"That doesn't do them justice." Maura's reply almost sounds like a question. "There have been good times. Even with _my_ family members."

"Fine." Jane is fuming. "Then how many stones for being framed for murder, interrogated by me, thinking you may have been raped, for you to actually consider for a moment that would be the better scenario 'cause it would justify self-defense, for being sent to prison, and attacked in there again?"

"Whatever, Jane", Maura mumbles. She blushes as she is assailed by a sense of guilt and shame for not being able to figure out why Jane is blowing up at her like this. Jane's anger washes over her and the sincerity and certainty in the detective's glare makes her believe she truly caused this - whatever she is supposed to call the situation that has developed between them. Jane scoots even closer to where Maura is still crouching on the floor. She is not done.

"Whatever!? Come on, Maura, I haven't even really started, yet." Her voice has been left by any tone and got reduced to a harsh rasp by now. "How many stones for the way Hoyt made you doubt yourself, electrocuted you and cut your throat with your own favorite instrument _and_ weapon of choice?" Jane regrets her question the second it leaves her mouth, a trait that belongs to her, like one of the scars on her hands.

"What are you insinuating?" Maura hisses as she backs away, out of Jane's reach, and gets up looking down at the detective before the other woman slowly raises herself.

"I didn't-"

"Oh, like hell you didn't!" Finally she can focus on a different feeling than the one from before, which was solely directed at herself.

"Maura", Jane gasps, not sure what she wants to say, though. Maura brings up a trembling hand to rub at her forehead, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"This has been an emotionally straining day", Jane concludes after a moment of silence. Her brows are furrowed, but the anger has left her features.

"Yes, it has", Maura nods. She points at the box and asks, "Can we continue this some other time?" Her voice does not betray her, but she looks the way Jane feels: exhausted.

Without hesitation Jane says, "Definitely", and really means it, because the last thing she wanted was to keep Maura away from that treasure box any longer. "Actually, if you ever feel like exploring it, please, just go ahead."

"Thank you." Maura is touched. Even more so because of the way they have pulled themselves together again.

* * *

 **A/N: I bet the context made it clear, but in case you missed it: _Hadhaa tiyya_ means 'my mother'.**


	5. Clutch of circumstance

**Chapter 5: Clutch of circumstance**

* * *

 _ **Boston, 11th of December 2018**_

 _The lab confirmed that our cat did not die of natural causes. Not even three weeks prior to the day when someone snapped his neck, I had spelled out how afraid I was to lose him. This. My family._

 _It is as if someone can peek into my innermost fears. I feel toyed with. I believe this is the sort of feeling I resent the most._

 _I once read an autobiography from a Holocaust survivor, a woman who wrote she had not recognized her neighbors' antisemitic beliefs until the day the National Socialists got elected and she had to flee Germany because of her Jewish descent. She had not recognized their animosity toward her, even though they had poisoned her family's pets many years prior to that fateful day in 1933._

 _To snap a pet's neck is more than a silly prank. It is an act of brutality. If someone is willing to go through the lengths of killing a harmless, innocent animal, then they are capable of doing a lot more than just that. It is a deliberate act of hate, a calculated anticipation of destroying a bond we formed._

 _We stowed away his things, the feeding dishes, the blankets and toys. For what purpose, I have no idea. Certainly, I don't want any other pet than Bass living here in the future. I never wanted the cat to begin with. I still find his hairs on the sofa. There is a scratch on my wrist from playing with him. Soon, no sign of him will be left._

 _I try to tell myself that there is a silver lining to the circumstance of his death. Small things, such as, come spring, he won't bring flees home, or that we won't have to find a sitter for him when we go back to Ethiopia next year._

 _And bigger topics: the situation gives us the opportunity to talk to the children about the significance of death before someone who is truly close to them leaves. More so, to remind them what they already know, which in Charra's case might mean that he could get a clearer understanding of how his biological mother is not with him anymore._

 _All in all, it's an utterly pathetic and pitiful attempt. I miss him. I cannot even bring myself to write down his name. Yes, I truly miss that poor creature. My seat here, in front of my desk, is dreadfully empty without him. Whatever that unknown person wants, or needs, I honestly do not care. I just want this to stop. Why did he or she have to punish us at a pet's expense? What if next time..._

 _._

 _Jane,_

 _I am not even sure I should write to you, make this into another letter to you. I want to share all of this, all of me, with you. I really do. Yet, I feel misunderstood before even starting._

 _Not only my heart, but also my mind tells me that this is ridiculous; that with you I have made different experiences; that you are usually the one who understands. You even were, probably, the first person to ever understand me. _

_However, I'm afraid to put myself out in the open; each and every thing inside of me is confusing in itself – both its processing and its content –, and therefore ought to be misunderstood. If I am strong enough to keep following the path we took, which is made of complete trust in each other, then this is exactly my motivation: I yearn for completion._

 _._

 _Why did you keep that letter you wrote during my abduction? And why did you keep it in your box? Isn't it exclusive for treasures? Of what is it supposed to remind you?_

 _I went through the things you keep there. It made me want to catalog them, an impulse which is probably similar to you counting the stones from the metaphor-jar. There are 83 objects and 211 snippets and sheets of paper. Did you know that?_

 _Some are self-explanatory, like the crown cap of a Bedele-bottle, your favorite Ethiopian beer. Others are not. There is a necklace made of pink flowers, which I simply cannot imagine you wearing; I wonder why it made its way into the tool box. On the other hand, I can totally see you wearing that hideous (broken) wrist watch that has a dinosaur claw made of rubber attached to the clock face._

 _You said I should keep the letter. I read it about seven times now. It is raw and unfinished. I tried to draw something hopeful from it, but that is an attempt that gets harder each time I go over your lines._

 _I decided to attach it to this diary. May it find its rest here._

* * *

 **Boston, 10th of May 2016**

Maura,

are you conscious?

The boys have finally agreed with whoever to take a nap, Charra only cause he's exhausted though, out of his mind really. poor, tiny fellow. Just as I am.

Are you hurt?

We found blood at the crime scene, not yours, no, but in case you managed to do that to your captor who knows what you got in return. Yeah. Who knows exactly!? please-

I don't know. Theres nothing I could ask from you right now, is there?

As if being taken because of me ain't punishment enough. Your rips barely healed from the mess I pulled you in back in Ethiopia and now you have to endure even more. Why the fuck does it make so much sense that the person I love can be hurt because of me. by me. How does it make sense that especially because of that great amount of love the whole family suffers?

I should've looked out for you better. Korsak tried to console me this morning that I looked out for the weakest link first and that you'd be capable to handle... whatever this situation will ask of you.

You coming home from Ethiopia is nothing like I imagined.

Picking you up from the airport was great. All kisses and only a few tears and not one thought wasted on the people staring at the four of us. Except the one thought that had me recognize those people, admittedly.

Alban was smiling widely, bouncing up and down in your arms, all excited. And Charra gazed around curiously, attentive, but okay with the world. His world. Ours.

Stepping inside the house, also ours, was fulfilling. The smell of Ma's food welcomed us as invasive and enveloping as all the hugs and kisses and questions. It ain't hard to admit: For once it wasn't too much. It was endearing.

Settling in was not great. It simply didn't happen. Just like that, everything I looked forward to, have found myself hoping for, got ripped from under my nose. Too much to ask to make something good last?

You are everything, Maura. Not the burned down apartment, nor the taunts and threats.

So where the hell are you?

* * *

 _I am the weakest link._

 _I get the sense I should be ashamed of the fact itself, or at least of remarking it so bluntly, but I'm not. I am certain of it with utter conviction. It is an established truth. We have been over this a hundred times. My intelligence quotient does nothing to indicate my social skills, which truly is a weakness of this sort of rating system._

 _I am the one most likely to be conned. Past incidents have proven that. Dennis Rockmond, the ordeal with Brad Adams or even my abduction by Joe Harris would not have happened if I were capable of seeing through people's bad intentions. What makes it worse is that I even fell for two of them. Three, if I count Garrett. Four with criminal charges, if I count Ian in, which I am a little reluctant to do, though._

 _Alban and Charra require protection, yes, but that's because it is in their nature of being children. I am the weakest link in our family, because I shouldn't be the weakest one. I should know better. I should be better._

 _I have a strange inkling that, in order to improve in that area, I need to do something that could easily be perceived as a step in the opposite direction. Something that could worsen our situation, because that kind of topic carries a connotation of a great force in weakening a person._

 _How can something, anything really, be two things at once? How can something feel right and wrong, be perspicuous and abstruse at the same time? And how come I feel both insecure and trusting? Did you think about something similar when you wrote that letter and contemplated how love can cause so much hurt?_

 _I believe I am torn between different Mauras. Each is all of the things above; but in particular, each version I picture seems to consist of rights and wrongs, which is an issue I have never had with myself before._

 _I spent my whole life trying to be accurate. Yes, to live with precision, wouldn't you agree? I don't make assumptions, I don't take guesses. I regained the power of white lies and lying for the sake of a joke, but other than that, I still resent the art of it._

 _You are aware of what Arthur put me through with his stupid-ass infidelity. However, neither he nor that lie I had to carry are the reason why I honor honesty to begin with._

 _Something entirely different is behind all of that. At a very young age, quite some time before Arthur's request, I had already decided that pure honesty needed to be the formula of my life, and that I would never drift away from the path I proclaimed to be clear, and definite, and righteous for myself. As well as for anyone else, for that matter._

 _I have to admit, committing to honesty the way I do is a form of escape, and therefore has something dishonest about it. I realize that now. As I said, two things at the same time, two sides of a coin._

 _Which is, for example, why you were absolutely right to accuse me of hiding behind science when I wouldn't tell you about how they planned to arrest Tommy._

 _Back then, my body had told me that I was wrong, as it does naturally in my case. I should have chosen the higher truth; my loyalty to you. My body knew, the stomach ache was very real, but I held on to the regulations; I stood by what was at hand for me. It hurt a lot to see what my actions did to you, to our relationship. I was learning the hard way that playing by the rules didn't mean it was right – nor that I was on the safe side._

 _During that case, I sensed that not each kind of honesty equals a good kind of honesty. And that the good kind may come in disguise. Only now am I beginning to grasp what this truly means, and how this kind of knowledge comes with specific consequences._

 _._

 _I am sorry. It was efficiently clarifying for me to write this letter, even to talk to an invisible you. However, I cannot give this to you; it bears too many questions I am not prepared to answer. Yet._

 _I promise, I will. At one point, I will be ready, even if the time may never be right._

 _I love you. No matter what, this is the highest truth._

 _Maura._

* * *

 **A/N:** The story from the Holocaust survivor belongs to Eva Seligmann, a German teacher.

A comment on the show I wanted to make ever since that episode aired: I have a love-hate relationship with that scene from 6x08 when Maura tells Jane about her father's infidelity. I love the way Sasha Alexander portrayed it and the joke Jane makes in the beginning makes me laugh every time I watch it. But I hate the bad continuation of Maura's life story. She simply shouldn't have had a best friend's mother, and even if she did, she shouldn't have been home to witness her father's actions, because she was supposed to be at a boarding school... Since I used all of the information concerning her in my story, I'd say she ran into her father and his mistress during summer break, and the thing with the other best friend – let's just forget about that person and never name her again :P

And a comment on the premiere: (I know, many people are frustrated shippers, and it's getting hard for some (or a lot) of them to see past the non-existent Rizzles-Relationship) – BUT I think it's a quite interesting decision to challenge Maura the way they do, cause they are taking away one of her strongest suits: the reliableness of her brilliant mind. In a way, that's what my story is all about: Maura handling being WAY (!) out of her comfort zone because of having to forgo something that previously was intrinsically tied to her life. I am very curious of how the head injury story line will play out throughout the season.

Okay. Done. Oh no, one more thing: If you find Maura out of character because she's swearing, then you might be right. My Maura, however, has a reason, actually _reasons_ , to be out of character that way.


	6. Not winced nor cried

**A/N:** Before you read this chapter, make sure you saw the last one, coz fanfiction net kind of messed up my update there, as in adding the new chapter, but not showing that the story was updated.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Not winced nor cried**

* * *

On Saturdays they go on trips, mostly to a museum, the aquarium, or to the park. The holidays came about and brought the first snow. For Christmas, Jane gave everyone tickets to _Six Flags._ A little reluctantly, the boys agreed to postpone their visit to the amusement park until spring, because Maura has been suffering from a mild, but annoying bladder infection during the second half of December. She had even called in sick for a couple of days in order to avoid uncomfortable situations with her subordinates and co-workers.

So today they decide on the park, where a new sled Frankie has given his nephews is supposed to make up for the things they would do at the amusement park. Jane pulls them all the way from their house to the playground. She loves how oblivious their sons are to the cold and bad weather in general, even though she is the one who continuously needs convincing when it comes to the muddy and wet experiences her family calls 'a walk in nature'.

Admittedly, there is a freedom to being outside, the way Maura encourages their sons.

Jane enjoys trying to get Maura into wearing a puddle suit similar to the ones of the kids, but naturally, it falls on deaf ears. Just as Maura heaves Charra onto the swings and his muddy boots brush his mother's way too expensive pants, Jane is about to make her point again. She never does, though, because out the corner of her eye she notices a man standing at the rim of the sand box, and with everything that has been going on lately, she is instantly alarmed. When she turns fully to look at the stranger, her emotions at his sight stream out into pretty much every direction she knows.

"Casey."

Maura gets so startled by that one-word statement, that she takes an involuntary step forward, right into Charra's swinging space. The little boy and his swing bump into her chest only a second later, making her stumble backwards and knocking Charra out of the seat.

The three-year-old starts wailing, and Maura herself feels wretched and like crying as she moves to gather him up in her arms. The boy struggles out of her grip, however, sobbing "my stone, my stone".

A scenario like that is already a classic for Charra. Barely out of the house, no matter where they are about to go, something will be in his hand; mostly a stick, a stone, a chestnut or an acorn. That kind of item will be holy for the period of being outside and needs to be carried everywhere. The smaller objects are invisible to the uninformed outsider, as Charra will keep them enclosed in his small fist while carrying on with whatever needs to be done.

Just like today. It only takes Jane a few seconds to spot the little pebble, and with Casey's eyes on her, she feels like performing a trick her son trained her to do. She is glad when Charra finally stops whining and squirming. After she gives Maura a pat on the shoulder that is meant as a comfort, she straightens up and finds their other son already engaged in a conversation with Casey. Alban knows the General from several Skype sessions. He also knows him to be his father.

They all greet each other politely. Casey apologizes for the unannounced visit, saying he was not sure he would gather the courage, and Jane suggests getting Maura and the children home and then going out to talk over coffee.

Jane tells her sons goodbye when they reach the driveway to their house, and gives Maura a long, reassuring kiss. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

The ME nods briefly and waves to the General.

.

"He seems good", Casey remarks after they leave Jane's home. "And looks a lot taller than on a screen."

Jane is glad he does not use 'very well adjusted' or any of the other clichés that always swirl around when someone talks about her son. Then again, Casey really knows what it means to be perceived in a specific way because of certain physical aspects.

"We've got a very good school", Jane explains. "The boys' class consists of children with and without special needs. Alban has an awesome personal trainer of whom Charra is very jealous."

They have not even taken their seats and Jane is already telling Casey about the troubling things that have been going on.

"Six weeks ago, an envelope got sent to the bullpen. It held a family portrait from an article on Maura, as the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth. All our faces were scratched off. There was no note, no prints, no return address. About four weeks later, someone opened the door to our backyard, actually disarmed the security system, and lured out our cat. Snapped his neck and left him on the lawn. No trace evidence again."

"Someone is going through a lot of trouble to get under your skin." Casey's face is so earnest and sympathetic that Jane feels something melt inside of her. It is so good to talk to someone about that. Especially when there is no need to be strong, a feeling she gets a lot around Maura lately.

"Yes, exactly. We have a patrol car coming by our house every twenty minutes, but the city can't afford something like that forever and as long as we don't have any lead..."

"That sounds awfully scary."

"To be honest, what scares me most is the affect it has on Maura. She seems changed, and I feel like I have to put in extra effort so our family doesn't fall apart. She wrote me this letter about two months ago, and it's just like she's mingling all those-" Jane abruptly stops herself, her brows furrowed in thought. "I'm sorry, Casey, I can't do this."

"I know. I like that about you."

"Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"Making me realize I need to talk to someone about this."

"You're welcome."

They smile at each other and Jane is grateful that they have grown this comfortable around one another again. They try to talk once a month, a rhythm they established about a year ago, and a lot of the initial uneasiness around each other has dissipated.

"So, how long will you be in town?"

"A couple of weeks. I would love to do something with Alban and Charra."

Jane's heart warms even more.

Neither of them initially took Casey for the kind of father he has become: a mostly absent one. He once said that his sense of loyalty to his job, his duty and his comrades had actually grown after he decided to not come back for Alban. So many men over there are separated from their families and not many of them really have a choice. Many of them, however, are crucial parts of their families, they miss them, they are missed, they ache for what they are missing out on.

Casey could have left his life behind in order to be with them, that had not been an impossibility in itself. He knows he will have to live with his decision of not being there for his son, and that he will have missed all the important times in his life. Without question, that knowledge does hurt. Yet, he has always known Alban is in a wonderful family, well taken care of. And he knows it is up to him to figure out how to fit in there.

Jane is touched by how much Casey understands what they are living. He acknowledges and respects Maura's presence as a second parent in Alban's life. And he is not asking for Alban alone, because he has an idea of how difficult it is for the two brothers to understand that they are different in some ways. That Alban is going to get to know his biological father and Charra is not.

.

Maura puts the boys down for a nap. In the study she finds the old tool box and opens one of its drawers. She already knows what she is looking for, and finds it after seconds, the box being much more organized since she started roaming around in it.

It is a printout she once gave to Jane that holds research about the medical condition Casey had in the past. She turns it around in her hand a couple of times, as if she expects a hidden message to magically appear, giving her a clue on how to proceed with all the questions that have taken over her mind. It is a hopeless attempt.

Instead she decides to go through some of the other papers and snippets that are stuffed into that drawer. She pulls out one of Jane's old English papers from high school, a short story about a dog and a hedgehog that got her a D. Jane has kept quite a few things from her school days.

One is a paper on how students would imagine the world in 2022. Jane's eight-year-old-self had proposed a national park with 'brought-back-dinosaurs'.

"Whatever that means", Maura had chuckled when she first read it a couple of weeks ago. "Time machines or genetic reconstruction..." In response Jane had whined, "Give me some credit: I wrote that pre-Jurassic Park."

Suddenly, a voice startles Maura out of that memory. "You know what my Ma said the first time I brought home a D?"

"What did she say?" Maura whispers, genuinely worried about how bad the reaction must have been, yet also nervously trying to see past Jane in the doorway.

"Said it's about time." Jane smiles, fond of that memory, and then realizes that Maura is checking if Casey is still around. She drops down next to the medical examiner and tugs her towards herself until the smaller woman's back is resting against Jane's front.

"Do you really think I would share this with anyone but you?" Jane motions first at the box and then at her and Maura.

"Yes." There is no point in not being honest, not for her anyway.

"Well, I wouldn't. This is yours, Maur'." She kisses Maura's temple until the doctor turns around far enough to kiss her back. "It's just you and me."

After a while Maura leans forward to open the lid on top of the box. She likes the objects the most.

"When I was a child, I read a story about a boy who would help out this blind old man in his apartment building. One day, the blind man showed him a collection of matchboxes and cans; when the boy opened them, he could hear someone playing the piano, the sound of the sea rushing, war noises, or the cheerful chatter of a summer feast." Her fingertips are traveling from object to object again.

"Then, some day after school, the boy came home and met the paramedics in the stairwell, carrying out the old man's lifeless form."

"Geez, Maura", Jane smirks, "you could at least retell your childhood stories a little less creepy."

Maura grins and holds out a tiny wooden box that reads the detective's name and something in Italian. Her Latin skills give her a hint to what it could mean, but it makes no sense to her. "What's this?"

"My baby teeth."

Maura loses her intent for a moment and makes an indistinguishable sound at Jane's reply. "I don't think this is sanitary."

"It's not supposed to be properly preserved or something, Maur", Jane chuckles. "It's an Italian custom to keep 'em. I actually never wondered why."

"So, I take it the tooth fairy has never visited you?"

"As if she ever came to the 'I' in the Isles-has-no-room-for-imagination mansion."

"Touchée." The doctor rolls the tooth container around in her hand. "After the blind man died", Maura continues her story, "the boy went to get the boxes. However, from that day on, they kept silent." She looks expectantly at Jane, who, however, is staring back at her with a blank expression.

"Aren't you afraid that's going to happen to your treasures?"

"I think this is pretty self-explanatory." Jane shrugs as she motions at the object in Maura's hand that contains some of her lapsed body parts.

"But most of them are not. Wouldn't you want these memories to live on?"

Jane shrugs once more. "No. They mean something to me, and now also to you, but to anyone else, they would probably appear to be useless and simply wouldn't make any sense. Would you want people to read your diaries?"

"Somehow, yes." Maura blushes. "I envy you, though."

At Jane's raised eyebrows she adds: "To you, we are enough."

* * *

 **A/N:** The story of the blind man is from the song "The old Mr. Stone" by singer songwriter Gerhard Schöne.

Admittedly, I have no idea whether the thing with the baby teeth is an Italian custom. It's a German one, though ;)


	7. Bludgeonings of chance

**A/N:** Many thanks to my beta, my only one, who knows my story better than me and notices when I mess up the time line.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Bludgeonings of chance**

* * *

 _ **Boston, 20th of February 2018**_

 _Dearest Alban,_

 _last night you dreamt of a wolf again, which turned out to be one of those stories we absolutely need to keep. One that could be told at all the mile stones of your life and_ _that_ _might_ _make you_ _love and hate us_ _all the same._

 _The wolf crept into your dreams, nightmares really, a couple of months back. If I_ _didn't_ _know better_ _,_ _I'd say you inherited your Ma's vivid dreams._ _Then again,_ _p_ _erhaps I don't know any better. In the end, science is at a loss with these kind of things. Jane thinks the scary wolf is your way of explaining Eli's death. Of course, none of that makes the funny, memorable story I was talking about._

 _One night, Jane tried to hand you_ _the_ _tools_ _to deal_ _with the animal that haunts you. While you were pressed against my chest, exhausted and at the same time too afraid to go back to sleep, she told you to imagine the wolf skidding around on roller skates. You had to laugh at that and let yourself be put to bed without further complaints._

 _Now_ _last_ _night, you_ _woke_ _up screaming again, and as we rushed into your room, you told us in a very detailed manner about the wolf chasing you on skates. We obviously have to think of a different approach._

 _._

 _I've just flicked through this album we made for you, and checked whether one of us has actually ever wrote about the day we found out about your hearing. We haven't. Maybe this in itself is a statement to how our life is. I did find a letter from Jane to you, though. The one where she wrote about the day you were born and where she says there is only one specific Alban story she wants. No what ifs._

 _I hope you know that you are, always have been, and forever will be exactly the person we want and love. The story of that day shouldn't be missing in here, neither because nor despite of who you are._

 _That day, Jane came home from work a little later than she had intended. Apparently, she called out for us from the driveway, then again inside the house, saying she was sorry for being late. She later told me she thought I was mad at her because of that, when in reality I just hadn't been able to acknowledge her presence right away._

 _She stepped up to where I was standing at the kitchen counter, radiating worry because of how still and distanced I must have seemed. I was watching you and your brother playing in the living room. We used to spread out a blanket there for you, however, you seldom stayed in one place while playing. Your toys were scattered all over the floor._

 _Jane said my name once more, but I was incapable of taking my eyes off of you, as you were sitting at the far end of our living room, your back to us. I did not turn to look at her until she made me, her hands on my shoulders were gentle and firm at the same time. I honestly recall every single moment of that._

 _She looked at me bewildered and inquiring. I told her she needed to watch something and while I knew my hushed and frightened voice had the power to terrify her, I couldn't help it. Without another word, I turned again and took baby steps into your direction. I can still hear the sound of your building blocks whenever they fell out of your tiny hands and clattered onto the floor. I can hear Charra's babbling from another part of the room._

 _As I got closer to you, I called out your name. Once, twice, three times. You never looked up._

 _When I gazed back at Jane over my shoulder, I knew all the blood had left my face. I told her that you couldn't hear me. She immediately brushed me off, dismissed that undocumented diagnose, and said you were simply engrossed in your playing. I shook my head at that – at her, I believe, for not wanting to grasp this reality. Or for not being able to grasp it._

 _She tried it herself then. Went up to you. Called your name. You gave her the brightest smile when she crouched down in front of you. You stood on your wobbly legs and came over to her as quickly as you could. As soon as you actually saw her._

 _Tears filled my eyes as she took you in her arms and looked back at me. I knew that she knew and vice versa. I wish I could say we weren't sad or scared because of what it meant for your sense of hearing, but at the time we were. We didn't know what had caused it. We were frightened by the hardship we thought it might cause in your life. And I could not understand at all why I hadn't realized it sooner._

 _That day, you were 14 months and 9 days old. How could it have taken me that long to recognize that you were hard of hearing? So many things made sense right then. For one, why you never stirred when Charra's powerful lungs would wake the whole neighborhood at night._

 _In the following weeks, we dragged you to all the necessary tests. The most probable reason is a nerve damage you were born with, however, there is no way to be sure about that._

 _One of the first things the doctors told us was that we should not raise you bilingual, that it wouldn't be fair to you, since you already had so much to conquer. Jane was boiling with anger. On the ride home, she said if learning afaan Oromo wasn't fair on anyone it would be her and her brain's poor capacity._

 _We decided to keep living the life we intended to live. We all managed. The 36 and 48 decibel hearing loss you got in your left and your right ear have not stopped you from doing anything. You and your brother share three languages, and Jane managed to adopt them too. You have never felt sorry for yourself. I believe one is not born with that trait, it is something that comes with social interaction._

 _It's not (and shouldn't be) a secret that your Mama_ _felt like you were someone who somehow happened to her. She never felt sorry for herself_ _,_ _though_ _,_ _either. She didn't expect_ _you_ _, but_ _she_ _embraced you_ _fully_ _. She didn't aim for you, but felt she won everything. She may not have wished for you, but you fulfilled her wildest dreams._

 _And mine. I am in awe with what you make me see. We had a long and warm fall_ _last_ _year._ _Each day, t_ _he sun lit a fire in the colorful tree crowns. You whirled around in the already fallen leaves, caught in a wind from the North. For the rainier days_ _,_ _Charra and you got new pairs of rubber boots and little umbrellas. The sound of your laughter while you were splashing through puddles is something that will hopefully stay with me for a very long time._

 _I hope one day you get the chance to learn about your mother's treasure box. I want you to listen to the tape that probably holds the funniest radio quiz_ _-_ _show on earth. I hope you get to see the tiny photograph from 1983 where_ _you need_ _a magnifying glass_ _to_ _make out that Jane, Frankie and Tommy are holding hands. I hope you get to hold_ _the small cowboy who lost one of his hands, the one he must have used to shield his eyes when gazing into the horizon_ _; or the trampled table tennis ball from an epic game with Frankie._

 _These_ _collected memories prompt me to imagine what Frankie and Tommy_ _might_ _have been like_ _as_ _children, what it must have been like for your Ma to_ _grow up with_ _two little brothers around. I will never unwrap all the layers of significance, I presume, but it_ _gives_ _me hope that one day_ _,_ _you and Charra_ _would_ _also feel_ _how much_ _your brotherhood_ _means_ _, that you'd want to keep each other's toys as a reminder of shared and precious times._

 _Now winter has come,_ _the oak trees slumber, the fir trees got cut. 60 inches of snow have fallen. It amazes me how, during this time of the year, sky and earth appear to be in a seamless transition. Only two more months and you'll be four years old. Four years, unbelievable. If the weather is good enough we will have a party in our backyard._

 _The year you were born winter didn't seem to want to leave. Maybe spring was waiting for your arrival. I was waiting, too. I don't think I have ever been waiting so excitedly for anyone before you. When we came home with you and laid you down on Jane's bed, I unwrapped you and covered your Ma with a blanket. She was exhausted and kept dozing off, never went fully to sleep, though, but checked on you again and again, making sure you were alright, which basically meant breathing._

 _I stayed with you two the whole night. You held one of my fingers for most of it and I waited and waited and waited... I felt like a guardian, whose task was to be there, to be ready, but who had been denied the knowledge of what she was expected to witness. And then you opened your eyes. And I knew._

 _Your nonna once told me a story:_ _e_ _ach time a child is born_ _,_ _the world gets created anew. You could say the world comes to the child. Being born means the world gets presented as a gift to you. The world will never be old and gray. You will be old and gray one day. But as long as children come into this world it will be as brand-new as it has been on the day of its creation._

 _You looked at me, because I looked at you. Unseeing, I know, but still your eyes rested on mine. I knew the world changed in that instant. I know you are still changing it. You don't have to seek something, to express dreams or visions. You are not questioning yourself and everything around you. You'd rather find everything. Just like on that first night, when you found my eyes. This is how you accomplish good._

 _._

 _Your father_ _came_ _to visit just after Christmas. It_ _was_ _the first time you two stood next to each other. Your dark hair looks nothing like_ _his_ _, but I actually noticed many features in you that do. Your chin, a certain good-natured sparkle in your eyes, even your posture when you were gazing up at him and he was looking down at you._

 _A part of me wished Jane would tell him that he could not show up in our life whenever he wanted. Despite all the things he didn't do, things_ _that_ _would make him a father, he is still an honorable man. If one day you feel like he failed you_ _,_ _then it will be you and you alone who has the right to decide what to make of that, and of him. I think Jane has done a good job in_ _keeping_ _this_ _particular_ _decision open to you._

 _As a matter of fact, you are going to decide what kind of parents we all have been. I wish we'd... I would never fail you._

 _._

 _There is something I have to do. In this respect_ _,_ _I feel the need to apologize to you and your brother, to ask for your forgiveness. However, to some degree it is not fair to ask that of you, because you have not asked for this life. I might not be able to offer you what you deserve. I know what that feels like, and I understand what it can do to you._

 _My dearest nutballs, I am deeply sorry for what I put you through, in case you might ever feel that I am unreliable or unavailable._

 _Maura._

* * *

 **A/N:** The story about the birth of a child and the world being renewed was written by Jostein Gaarder.


	8. Bloody but unbowed

**Chapter 8: Bloody, but unbowed**

* * *

Jane finds her favorite spot and starts dragging her index finger from Maura's right hip bone to her naval, when suddenly Maura grabs her wrist firmly, and pants: "Not there tonight, okay?"

"Sure", Jane breathes, too absorbed in her task to give it much thought, and just keeps on kissing Maura's neck and jawline the way she knows will get her a reaction. At one point **,** as she has to steady herself by putting a hand onto the mattress **,** next to Maura's hip **,** the smaller woman promptly catches her wrist for the second time.

"I'm not gonna touch you there", Jane chuckles, and lowers herself onto Maura's naked form, her elbows now on each side of the doctor's upper body **,** supporting her weight.

As soon as she gets this close, though, she becomes more aware of the details that are different tonight. Maura's heart is racing under Jane's fingertips, too fast to blame it entirely on excitement, and her breathing comes in quick gasps that are way past pants of pleasure.

Jane sits up so quickly, she actually gets a head rush. "Maura, are you afraid?" She does not dare to add 'of me', but her incredulous and frightened tone must say it all.

"No", Maura doesn't miss a beat, still her body betrays her. She is shivering from head to toes.

"What's going on?" Jane asks, worry seeping into every bone.

"Nothing!" Maura sits up herself and tries to pull Jane back into a kiss. Yet, Jane realizes she has never seen her act the way she does tonight. She has seen Maura fierce, demanding, provoking, passionate, and taking pride in guiding Jane through pleasurable experiences the detective had no idea existed. But tonight **,** for the first time **,** Maura is submissive.

"Maur", Jane whispers, because she does not have the heart to tell Maura that they cannot do this, that _she_ will not do this.

"Keep going", Maura tries to encourage her, but her shaky voice has the opposite effect.

"I can't. Not when you feel and look like this."

"I'm not afraid of you", Maura pleads. "I'm simply afraid of change."

"Of what?"

"Change", Maura repeats, desperate.

"Change of _what_ , Maura?" Jane asks, frustration evident in her voice.

"Anything. No, actually _every_ thing."

.

It is a Thursday when Maura tells Jane, "You should take my session with Dr. Larkspur tomorrow at 2 p.m."

"Right, and you should take my appointment with the end-of-the-week-paperwork, also at 2 p.m." Yet when Jane sees Maura's face, she adds, "And somehow, you're not joking **."**

Dr. Larkspur and Jane do meet the next day in the therapist's office. To Jane's surprise **,** the elegant looking woman is at least ten years younger than her. They shake hands, greet each other with "It is very nice to meet you" and "Likewise", and sit down on opposite sides of a designer sofa. Coffee and water are waiting on the table for Jane, who was twelve minutes early to their agreed meeting.

"I have to admit, Maura and you are disconcerting me", Jane says, dead on serious.

"I apologize, Detective. Without a question **,** this is a delicate situation. Dr. Isles was afraid you'd feel ambushed, but she still felt more comfortable to go about it this way."

Jane is instantly fond of Dr. Larkspur's manner to not beat around the bush, and of the way she does not interrupt her speech to study Jane's face for whatever reaction she might expect.

"She is on the verge of facing something different than why she initially chose to go to therapy", the doctor explains. "I don't mean to sound cryptic. The thing is, I actually don't know any details. She wanted you to be the first person to tell **.** "

"Are you talking about some form of abuse?" Somehow Jane knows.

"Yes", the therapist states. She does not say she is sorry and Jane is very, very grateful for that and has come to respect this woman in just a few seconds.

"She's been neglected by her parents", Jane says, but she is not really sure where she is going with this. It certainly does not explain **,** nor justify anything.

"Detective?"

Jane's eyes shoot up to the younger woman's face as she realizes she has been staring at the coffee table and, in fact, zoned out a little.

"This is a lot to take in." The woman hands Jane an envelope. "Dr. Isles has written a letter to you and she would like you to read it here **,** in my office, in case you feel like talking afterward. But if you don't, then that is perfectly fine as well."

"I... I'm..." Jane barely registers that she is staring into space again. Suddenly **,** Dr. Larkspur gets up and opens a window. Fresh air and street noises rush in.

The world is still there, still spinning.

"May I suggest something?" the therapist asks, not too forward, yet not tentatively either. Jane only finds herself able to nod. "Read her lines while standing by the window and have some coffee. I will be back in five minutes to see whether you need more time or anything else."

With another nod from Jane **,** the younger woman leaves the office.

.

When Dr. Larkspur returns after the announced amount of time, Jane is staring out the window. She seems stoic, but there is a turmoil of emotions inside of her. She wonders whether she should cry, or scream. She wonders why Maura made her read those lines in a therapist's office, yet she wishes she could simply respect any decisions Maura has made and will make concerning the matter.

"I have to admit, I haven't been that scared in a long time", she says to the garden behind the house. Since she is confronted with something so ghastly, maybe she can pretend she is talking to something natural for a while.

"You were white as a sheet when I handed you that letter", the therapist remarks and Jane turns to face her. "You look much better now. It comes in handy to be able to pull oneself together that fast."

"Yes", Jane agrees, "especially when you have children." Her eyes grow a little wider at her last word. "Oh, the children. If Maura has to go through something like that **,** it will-"

"-affect them, yes", Dr. Larkspur finishes. "Which is another reason why Dr. Isles wanted me to talk to you." She straightens a little. "I believe in a holistic approach when it comes to these kind of complex topics that have a very deep impact on a person. This process will ask a lot of you and your family, even if Dr. Isles should **,** after a while **,** decide not to pursue the subject."

"You think she'd back out?"

"Back out of what?"

Jane is not surprised that the doctor has immediately caught on the deeper meaning of her question. She has walked into the question, and finds herself wishing to avoid an answer. "Everything", she admits after a moment. "Therapy. Coping. … _us_."

"It doesn't seem to me that she hasn't already been coping with the matter. She's working on putting it into the bigger picture."

"Okay..." Jane takes a seat on one of the sofas again. She sits up straight **,** composed. She takes a strange pride in being able to really listen and think clearly right now. To not shut down or run away instead. "I'm sorry, but I don't really get what you mean by 'bigger picture'."

"Well, I cannot paint it for you in-depth, because I won't share any of my knowledge about Dr. Isles that she has not explicitly asked me to share."

"I respect that."

"However, if I may ask you something, I believe you'd see for yourself."

Jane considers the younger woman for a moment, trying to figure out whether she is merely playing a game. She ends up acknowledging the fact that this woman made her feel taken seriously and approached her with honesty and respect.

"I'd do anything when it comes to Maura. So, shoot", Jane states and the therapist smiles softly.

"Have you witnessed her giving up control?"

Jane immediately thinks back to the time Maura shouted at her in anger to stay away from her injured father. And the time Maura sagged into her arms after realizing how foolish she had been to trust Dennis.

"A few times", Jane says. "I would call it _losing_ control, though."

"You've been there when she lost control?"

"Mostly, I guess. There's only one other person I can think of right now, who's seen Maura lose her cool, or even break down – Hope, her biological mother…"

"This is a very important distinction you made. It would be good, really productive, if Dr. Isles could work on deliberately giving up some of her control, instead of losing it. From what she has told me, you appear to be the one person she would experience this with."

Jane nods, deep in thought. "So you think the way Maura sometimes lets go in front of Hope is because of the hopes and wishes she's got regarding the relationship with her biological mother?"

"You seem to know her very well", the doctor remarks. Jane almost adds 'obviously **,** not well enough', but she knows that **,** despite this sudden bitterness, she really _does_ know Maura. And she really can do this. They will be able to deal with this.

"I hated that metaphor with the stones", Jane drops after they have already said their goodbyes. The startled look she receives from the therapist satisfies her deeply.

.

She finds Maura in her office. The medical examiner is standing next to her desk, God only knows for how long already. She is nervously tapping the surface with her index finger. The blinds are drawn and Jane understands the doctor prepared the room for a scenario she does not want anyone to see. The tension there could be cut with a knife.

"I love you", Jane says. She figures this is the most important thing. Maura starts crying immediately, face into her hands **,** and Jane realizes she has not seen Maura shed a single tear in a very long time. Not even when Eli died. The decision to work on breaking down her walls seems to have led her to being more controlled than ever.

Jane only takes the time to pull the door shut behind her **,** and then rushes over to the shaking woman, embracing her. When Maura's hands go to her back and pull her closer, she gets overwhelmed with emotions herself.

It takes them a long time to calm down. When they do **,** they find themselves sitting on the floor, backs to the desk. Maura is the first one to speak.

"There's so much I want to say."

"Yes. I do too."

"I don't know where to start."

"I know. It's okay."

"I have arranged for Mariam to stay longer tonight and put the children to bed", she explains. "I hope that's alright with you."

"It is." Jane has her arm around Maura and is softly rubbing her shoulder.

"I have prepared some coffee over there for us." Maura's head nods in the direction of the sofa, but neither of them feel motivated to move.

"Dr. Larkspur and you have prepared well for this day", Jane tries a mild joke, but is touched by how both women considered her.

"I also made dinner reservations for us."

Jane immediately wants to ask whether Maura is sure that this is what she really wants tonight, but ends up biting her tongue instead. With every fiber in her body she wants to show Maura that she trusts her, trusts each and every decision she makes.

Maura, however, notices the tightening of Jane's jaw and explains, "I really want to do something nice this evening."

Jane gets that. And ultimately, she craves for something nice too.

* * *

 **A/N:** A hiatus will follow, coz I'm going on vacation and for the first time in forever I won't take my notebook with me. See you in August!


End file.
